


Of Tenses, Trousers and Thigh Boots

by Willa Shakespeare (AnonEhouse)



Category: Blake's 7
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anthropomorphic, Crack, Humor, M/M, Post Gauda Prime
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-11
Updated: 2013-05-11
Packaged: 2017-12-11 12:04:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/798559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnonEhouse/pseuds/Willa%20Shakespeare
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a series of five sequentially related fics that just sort of grew. It all begins as a bar tale and that's the most serious of the five. Never fear! True love conquers all!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First- Person, Present Tense

**Author's Note:**

> While discussing the uses of different tenses and points of view (we had serious literary discussions! Some of which didn't involve sex.) one of the members of the Adult B7 mailing list said she liked Vila as a narrator because he would chat with you if you were sitting on the next barstool. And I thought...

(If you are reading this on any PAY site this is a STOLEN WORK, the author has NOT Given Permission for it to be here. If you're paying to read it, you're being cheated too because you can read it on Archiveofourown for FREE.)

I'm sitting at the bar, feeling sorry for myself- with good reason- when this attractive specimen sits next to me. "Hullo, I'm Vila Restal," I say, with a bright, honest, open smile- really one of my best efforts, as I can tell from a sideways glance at the gilt-edged bar mirror.

The attractive specimen grunts, scratches his arse and puts his thick bill-fold back in his pocket after he orders and pays for the most expensive drink the bar had to offer.

You define attractive specimen your way, I'll define them mine. That billfold is stacked like a beautiful lady.

"I was with Blake," I say mournfully, gazing at the tepid glass of bilge-juice that was all I could afford.

The tall, lovely, cool-looking glass of Arcturian Maiden's Delight stops on its way to my new best friend's lips. "Blake? Was?"

This is a rebel's bar, on a rebel's planet, so it's safe to talk about Blake. It's better than safe, it's downright patriotic.

"Didn't you know? It was terrible." I clear my throat. "I get choked up just thinking about it. You know, I don't really think Avon should have got all the blame. I mean, you've heard about _him_. Anna Grant," I say darkly. "And poor Cally. And just think of him and Servalan..." I shudder, and quickly swallow the last couple of drops of my drink, and start to rise. "You can't hold a madman accountable, can you?"

"Wait," the man with the fat wallet says, holding out his hand. "I hadn't heard anything. Just that you and Avon were with Blake and you were doing great things for the rebellion. My name is Del Smith."

Sure it is, and I'm a teetotaller. Every other rebel is named Del, it seems. "I knew a Del, once. He was a pilot. Brave, loyal." I glance at the lace-edged pink hanky sticking out of Del's left back-pocket and make a guess at his inclinations. "Handsome in a pretty-boy way." I shake my head. "So young. He was so young." I cough. "Sorry. My throat's not been the same since that trooper stepped on me, but it was lucky at that, or I'd never have survived the massacre." I cough again, harder. "I'd better go."

"Let me buy you a drink, first. What were you having?" He looks around but I've already pushed my empty plonk glass to the side.

"Arcturian Maiden's Delight," I tell him. He is pleased at the coincidence, and orders for both of us. I sit and after a few revivifying sips, I begin to tell the Tale of Gauda Prime.

It's a long story, telling it properly, with all the background so that Del could understand just how we could have got from Blake's loyal followers to rag-tag desperadoes led by a paranoid maniac. Other rebels gather and listen  
in solemn silence. My voice gets tattered and weak from emotion from time to time, but my new friend now has competition to provide me with liquid solace.

I'm weeping at the end. "Poor Avon. I was shot, but I wasn't unconscious, not quite. He was standing over Blake...just standing there. And then he smiled. And it was one of those awful, crazy-man smiles. And then he stepped... astride Blake, standing there..." I'm sobbing now. "Standing over Blake's corpse to _protect_ it. And then he raised the gun and he fired." I put my head down on the counter. "And the troopers opened fire..."

Now the whole bar is sobbing with me. Even the bartender. Over the repressed sobbing of a roomful of strong men and women I hear the outer door open. I am too miserable to look up until someone screams.

"What?" I sit up so fast I slide off the stool and when I see who's coming at me, I cringe. "Sorry." I get up and look ashamed. "I meant to tell you, but I think my teleport bracelet's damaged. I couldn't get a message through to _Liberator_ , so ..."

"So you decided to get drunk to pass the time." Avon speaks for Blake, as he's taken to doing lately. "And _what_ else did you do?"

"I was just..." But no one is listening to my explanation. Everyone is staring at Avon in his black leathers and studs, with those ridiculously sexy thigh-high glossy black leather boots, and then at Blake in his goose-turd green vest and plain brown trousers. Both Avon and Blake are wearing hankerchiefs in their back pockets. Pink hankies, knotted at the ends. I suppose that means something to the locals, too.

"Vila," Blake says in his, I'd thought better of you and you've disappointed me, voice. Which almost makes me ashamed. "You've been telling stories again, haven't you? Which one this time? The one where Jenna betrays me and a monster blinds me in front of you?"

"Um. No, actually, it was the Gauda Prime story."

Avon rolls his eyes, comes close and grabs me by the elbow. He hisses in my ear, "Saving your life on that shuttle seems a very big mistake." Several rebels flinch and draw away from him. He glances around, and then back at me, eyes narrowed. "And what version of _that_ did you tell?"

"Um. Not sure exactly. But it was very exciting."

"And had everyone feeling sorry for you, no doubt." Avon turns to Blake. "I _told_ you he couldn't be trusted on liberty alone. Next time, Gan goes with him."

"You may be right, Avon." Blake snaps an extra teleport bracelet on my wrist, and says, "Cally, we've found our stray lamb," into his own bracelet. "Bring him up."

"But I'm not ready..." But it's too late and the teleport has already taken me.

"Ready for what, Vila?" Cally says. She comes around the console and wrinkles up her nose. "You smell of liquor. To the medical unit, Vila."

"Why?"

"Because it was your turn on watch half an hour ago, and you are going to be sober for it."

"What's the point of getting a bit squiffy if you can't enjoy it?"

"Exactly. There is no point to it."

"You're no fun," I say as I trudge off to my appointment with destiny, in the shape of a large, pointy needle filled with chemicals to make the universe crystal-clear again, after I'd just got things nicely fuzzy. "And Blake and Avon are no fun! One of these days I'll tell what _really_ happened on Gauda Prime."

Cally blushes because she remembers that day as well as I do. Oh, well, I must admit, Blake and Avon are easier to get along with now that they've got each other, but they _could_ let a fellow have a bit of shore-leave!


	2. Several Persons, Very Tense

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After I posted the first fic to the list I was asked to tell what really _Did_ happen on GP, including the events before and after Cally was embarrassed. It takes a lot to make an Auron blush.

YOU!" Avon shrieked. "You have betrayed me!"

Blake winced. "Avon, can we discuss this like two civilized people?"

"That will be a little difficult after I shoot you."

"I'm not even armed," Blake pointed out.

"You're not even dressed," Avon said with venom. "Is that how you conduct your rebellion?" 

"Well, actually, yes it is." Blake looked around at the confused crew of the Liberator. "If you'd taken the time to read the brochure I sent you..."

"BROCHURE!" Avon was quivering all over and waving his arms wildly, and Vila ducked as the muzzle of the Very Large Gun passed nearby.

Gan reached out and snagged the gun, pulling it out of Avon's grasp. "Avon, if you shoot Blake, how can he explain?" Gan rolled his eyes in Blake's direction. "I think you should explain quickly," he said, holding the gun against his chest, resisting Avon's attempts to pry it free.

"Gauda Prime is ..."

"I know, I know, it's a colony world that's had martial law invoked. Orac told me. What has that got to do with you sitting there naked, surrounded by naked men!" Avon swept his glare over the tracking gallery. Deva whimpered as it hit him.

"I suppose you interrupted Orac,too. Gauda Prime is a _Nudist_ Colony. And it's Marital law that's been invoked. The only people who are allowed to wear clothes are married couples." Blake shook his head. "The leathers have to go."

Avon blinked. "What?"

"All of you. I'm afraid it is the law," Blake said firmly. He pointed to a small gold badge suspended on the only thing he wore: a thin, gold necklace. "And I've been appointed to enforce it."

"You're a COPPER!" Vila shrieked. "I'm not getting strip-searched by _You_!" He fainted and lay on the floor, carefully watching through slitted eyelids to see what would happen next.

Jenna shrugged and began peeling off her blouse. She dropped it on Vila's face. "I don't like you peeking up my skirt even when I'm wearing one, Vila," she commented, as she continued to matter-of-factly strip.

Gan said, "Well, if Blake says so, it must be all right." And he started taking off his clothes, carefully handing the gun to Cally first.

Avon stood practically nose-to-nose with Blake, and said, "No, I am _not_ doing it."

"Then I'll have to arrest you," Blake said, after biting at his thumb.

Avon crossed his arms. "Try it."

Cally said, "It does not seem such a difficult request, Avon. After all, the human body is not too terribly ugly. Even though you do have all that excessive body hair." She wrinkled her nose. "And odd discolorations on your chests."

"Nipples," Jenna supplied. She had got down to the buff and was rubbing at the marks her brassiere straps had dug in her shoulders. "We find them attractive, actually."

Cally said, "I suppose it is all a matter of what you are accustomed to seeing." She handed the gun back to Gan who was now placidly nude, then she pulled off her own clothes, revealing a slim, unmarked torso.

"Out of curiosity, and you needn't answer if it offends," Jenna said, after giving Cally a long, thoughtful examination. "How _do_ the Auronar feed their young if you don't nurse them?"

Cally smiled and said, "Why, regurgitation of pre-digested food from our second stomachs, of course."

Jenna turned slightly green. "Oh. Gross."

Everyone stared at Cally. Cally blinked, and lowered her eyes. "Sorry. I did not know that would bother you. It has never come up before." She blushed a delicate pink. All over.

"And it had better not _come up_ ," Avon snapped, apparently coming out of a daze. "That's it. Look, Blake, this farce has gone on long enough. Get some clothes on, come back to Liberator and take over your blasted rebellion."

Blake shook his head. "After you strip."

Avon began backing up. "No."

"Why not?" Blake rumbled. He had been standing with his hands in front of his genitals, but now he spread his hands, revealing the beginnings of a beautiful friendship. "Look at me." He hadn't needed to give the order. Avon was staring, transfixed-- well, not literally. At least, not yet.

Blake stepped forward. "You don't need this," he said, slipping off Avon's overvest. "Or this. Or this." Keeping eye contact made it awkward, but Blake removed all of Avon's upper garments, and then opened and lowered Avon's trousers. "Ah. I was right," he murmured and took Avon's firmness in hand.

"No," Avon whispered.

"Quite right," Blake said, nodding. He pulled up Avon's trousers, carefully tucking away his pride and joy. "We'll save that for after the ceremony. Deva!" he bellowed, "bring my trousseau!"

***

It was quite touching, really. Gan cried, and Vila caught the bouquet.


	3. First 'Person', Very Tense:  subtitle : Panting for it

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the second part was posted, we began discussing Avon's Trousers, which was... actually a fairly common conversational subject. He wore a lot of tightly fitted black leather and really had the legs and... other attributes... to.... um... yes, someone wondered if the Trousers' Point of View had ever been considered.

Oh, bloody hell. There's that big, curly-headed bloke again. After months of blessed quiet, of being carefully taken off and having all my seams exactly aligned every night before being clipped to a proper padded hanger, here comes trouble with a capital 'T'.

You think I've never met him, so how can I tell what's going to happen? After all, he's just an old ex-leader of my owner. What could _possibly_ happen? 

You don't want to know. I've heard the horror stories from Sable, and Jet and Onyx, my predecessors in the fine, custom-fitted, black leather trouser department. Pitiful, it was, how a single evening with _him_ reduced each of them to polishing shammys, tattered rags of their former glory, fit only to be wadded up into a Delta's back pocket.

Please, please, owner, shoot him! Shoot him, now! No, no, no, _don't_ throw the gun away!

_RIP!_

Ah. I fall, mortally wounded, to the floor. I am not alone. A pair of coarse, plebian trousers has fallen in a similar state of woeful injury beside me.

It's foolish, but I am moved by their calm acceptance of their fate, and I arrange my folds protectively over them. They are still warm, and accept my embrace.

Perhaps it won't be so bad being a shammy. At least his threads and mine will have woven together this once.


	4. Epilogue for the Trousers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was brought to my attention that 'First Person, Very Tense', was not very Hexy* for the trousers so I wrote this epilogue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I am not only a member but the President of the Happy Ending eXpediters. A great deal of B7 fic tended to mirror the canonically dystopian and depressingly prone to failure 'verse. Hexers like at least a hopeful ending and nearly always give our heroes one. Sometimes, given prior permission, we'd continue someone else's fic, not changing what had happened, but looking for loopholes. 
> 
> There's always a way for a true HEXer.

Deva shook his head. "Obvious you two never had to scrimp for a living," he said to the entwined pair on the floor of the tracking gallery as he picked up their clothes, shook them out neatly, and examined them. "Now, just look at the condition of these trousers! Leather doesn't grow on trees, you know."

Avon broke away from kissing Blake long enough to mutter, "Your mother doesn't approve of me."

Blake grinned and nipped Avon's throat, not quite gently, and they forgot about Deva.

"Probably throw both your backs out doing it on the floor," Deva groused on his way out to find his sewing kit, "and I'll wind up having to nurse the two of you in bed." Fortunately, he was out of earshot when he said that, or he might have been literally shot.

***

"There!" Deva said, after biting off the last dangling thread. "Once mended, twice new." He beamed at the glossy black leather trousers, and picked them up, stooping to retrieve Blake's newly repaired trousers and lay them over his arm on top of the leather ones. He patted Blake's on the seat. "Lucky it was only seams that went."

He marched down to Blake's quarters and deposited both sets of trousers in the closet, which was rather small, so he had to squeeze them in, tightly pressing against each other. He adjusted the creases, and made sure they were well-hung, and then went to check on Blake and Avon in the infirmary. By now the muscle-relaxants should have helped their backs.

***

As the closet door shut, the trousers swayed, rubbing zippers together, making a sound that was very like a contented sigh.


	5. These Boots Were Made for Stalking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the Epilogue I was reminded that 'we still haven't heard from *Those Boots.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Thigh high, tightly fitted, glossy black leather boots. They were...yeah... honestly we wept when we learned that they'd been later cut down to knee high, simply because they made walking/running/getting beat up by bad guys difficult.
> 
> WE LOVED THOSE BOOTS.

_Mud!_

My brother and I were made for finer things. Chalky quarry mud is the worst. Our soles are not designed for this. It's not our fault that we can't maintain good traction in this slime and our wearer winds up sitting down in the noxious stuff. It clings, and it cakes on everything. Those stuck-up black trousers aren't happy either, but they're such kiss-ups to the 'boss' they keep stretching and flexing, trying to make things easy for him. Hmmph. I am working on giving him corns. If it wasn't for those trousers I'd have given him 'saddle sores'. He'll regret using us like common duck-boots.

And why do we always have to run? And always follow the big fellow with those nasty, broad-toed boots that have no pride at all. They _deliberately_ kick stones loose to fall on us, don't they, Dexter? They're so jealous, they'd do just about anything to scuff us.

But we're too quick for them, aren't we?

ARGG! Got me, Dexter, right in the ankle... Tell me, I can take it, am I--- am I scarred?

You'll recover, Lefty. It's just a chalk-quarry, after all. I do wish you'd stop complaining, and carry on with the job at hand.

You never cared about me! But mom liked me best!!

Oh, grow up. Will you just put your best foot forward.

That's it! Always with the superiority, just because you read that the Romans put a slave at the door to make sure everyone entered on the 'right' foot. I'm not putting up with you anymore! I'm going home!!

Lefty, you idiot!

***

"Avon?! Are you all right?" Blake looked down into the shallow chalk pit at Avon's nearly upside-down form. Avon was not a pretty sight. He was covered in slick, white, slimy mud from head to foot, and glaring.

"My foot slipped." Avon struggled upright and started to rise, but he let out a surprised yelp as his foot crumpled under him. "I seem to have turned my ankle."

Blake grunted and looked for a less steep way down into the hole. "Why did you wear _those_ boots?"

"I happen to like them," Avon replied sourly, looking down at the muddy boots in question.

"I like them, too," Blake said, sliding down a mudslope to land next to Avon. "I like them a _lot_ ," he said, running both his hands slowly down Avon's leg, starting at the top of the thigh-high boot.

"My ankle isn't there," Avon commented, when Blake's hands seemed to linger at the thigh, fingers splayed out on the edge of dangerous territory.

"I was just checking for other injuries. Does this hurt?" Blake asked, running his hands all the way up and down the other boot, pressing firmly enough to make Avon squirm uncomfortably.

"No. Just the ankle on the left foot. Look, let's just forget about the first-aid, _and_ the mission and teleport up to the ship. My bracelet fell off, but it's right...."

_CRUNCH_ went the bracelet as Blake's broad-toed boot stomped right on it.

"Hmm," Blake said, after Avon finished commenting on his intelligence, ancestry, and personal hygiene. "I guess that means we'll have to use my bracelet to get us both up."

"That's impossible!"

"I _am_ an engineer. We just have to be very, very close." Blake lay down on top of Avon. "And since you can't stand, we'll have to do it like this."

"Um, Blake..." Avon said after several minutes in which Blake seemed to be trying to rub a hole through Avon. "Is this _quite_ necessary?"

"Sorry," Blake panted. "Can't do it without more contact. Skin-to-skin."

Avon gave Blake a dubious look.

***

Dexter! Watch out, those big-toed boots!! Ouch, ouch, ouch!

Oh, shut up, Lefty. Ahhhh. I _like_ rough-cut suede. Isn't that nap lovely?

Well, if you like that sort of thing. Oooh, the leather trousers aren't going to like that!! Hey, why are we getting pushed back....oh...oh... how wonderful, we're finally getting used properly!

OOOOoooh, yes, this is lovely. Our street-walking momma would be so proud.

Leave momma out of it. I _told_ you, she liked me best!

Lefty, you are such a pain-in-the... oh......my......Oh, OHHH......Oh, Sole-O Mio...


End file.
